Wednesday, August 26, 2009

I rode Porto Alegre's Metro for the first time, traveling from Centro to the airport. It was clean, efficient...

...but the wealth of signage directing riders to Linha 1 was entertaining, since there's only one line (and I was at the start of it). Pretty hard to get lost.

They served me cyanide tablets with my first coffee in Montevideo. Looking back, I suppose it was my first insight on the local sense of humor.

Cath and I had a very odd experience while picking up a few staples at the supermarket. First, there was the unintentionally comedic troupe of cashiers. The first duo, LaurelAnn and HardyAnn, were stuck in a register debacle but didn't care to advise us that perhaps it would be better to go to another lane rather than wait through the dinner hour. The next cashier, Groucho, refused to let our radiating charm pierce his armor of all-loathing. Well, eventually, he managed a snicker as Cath and I searched her veritable currency exchange of a coin purse for the right combination of pesos to pay for our goods. Then there was the lurker with a lazy eye--a plain-clothed man eerily scanning from the front of the store--I thought he was just some oddball that had nothing better to do than stand in the local mini-mercado and look weird. Cath sussed out that he was the security guard. She was probably right, but, yipes.

In any case, I did admire the supermarket's variety of sugary cereals. I haven't seen a selection like this for a while.

This indoor arena is named Maracana. I enjoy their optimism: "Dream Big," I say.

At first I thought this light-board was airing advertisements for the captive audience caught at the red light. As it turns out, it was a Public Service Announcement pleading with drivers not to drink (non-alcoholic) mate and drive. I found this to be a hilarious juxtaposition against neighboring Brazil's massive anti-DUI campaign, thinking, "Wow! And the Uruguayans have a big tea-distraction problem?"

Later I learned that the problem is the number of drivers seriously injured or killed because the metal straw, or bomba as it's called here, makes its way through the roof of the mouth pretty easily in even a minor traffic accident. Opa!

Sing it with me now!

Leandro and Charlie were trying to teach Cath and I to say "perro" correctly. They said that when little kids have trouble learning to roll the r properly, the teacher puts a pencil in their mouth. Leandro was proud of my progress, but more practice is required.

And from today's "Not Safe For Work" files:You might recall the photo of the lingerie store, "Fake" (which still gives me a good laugh when I see it). Found in Montevideo, the sister store, "Yes Yes."

"How did you end up here?"

All stories have a beginning, though not all stories have a clear plot. I chucked my U.S. life in 2008 and moved (yes, alone) to Porto Alegre, Brazil. In the spirit of courage, ambition, adventure, and curiosity, I set out to restore and recreate my Self. In the beginning I wrote under the quaintly misspelled nickname Loquinha Gauchinha, and My Life In Havaianas represented, to me, a new adventure.

In 2010 I moved to São Paulo, because, well, "Leap and the net will appear." I turned Paulistinha(but stayed "colorada"). Nets did appear --amazingly, but not surprisingly--again. Yet a year later I was on my way back to the States. A masters in US-Brazil collaboration kept me occupied and laid groundwork for later evolution.

Today, My Life In Havaianas has a new meaning to me. It represents a Self I recreated and continue to expand. It is a state of mind. A passion reignited. I'm ready to fill in the gaps. For now, you can call me Jenjinha.